Used Car Parts Man

Back in the good old days, when cars were basic and simple, a man could work on his own engine and spend some time with his sons, leaning over the fenders and talking.

The man who worked on his car had an understanding of how things worked.

I had an uncle who prided himself on messing with his car. I need to say here that he wasn't a mechanic like his three brothers, so the things he did weren't always good.

That man never bought a new part for any of his cars, and it goes without saying that he never bought a new car. He was a city man with a strange mind.

My dad was an ace mechanic and to see him so frustrated with his younger brother was not a pretty thing.

My uncle spent more time scouring the countryside, looking for a used part he needed for yet another junk heap he drove. When he'd finally unearth it, he'd gloat and flash it around like it was gold, making his brothers growl in their misery.

My aunt said they never took a long road trip without the trunk loaded down with spare used parts for when the car needed one, which it always did.

They went on a one-week trip one summer in the 60's that took over two weeks, because the car kept breaking down in the middle of nowhere, and she'd had to stand at the side of the road while he fiddled with the car.

My mom told her to take along her knitting next time.

My uncle even started collecting old cars for their parts, and when his backyard became full of them, he started on his front yard, until a policeman came around waving a billy in one hand and a city ordinance paper in the other.

My uncle never went anywhere without a trunk-load of used car batteries and alternators, wretched windshield wipers and engine belts, even gearshift knobs and rear-view mirrors, and plenty of tape to hold a repair together when all else failed.

Joking once, my dad said to him, "Too bad you have to be normal and stop at a gas pump when you run out." And my uncle just hauled my dad outside and opened the back door of his car and pointed.

You know what was on the backseat floor, don't you? Big red cans? With long spouts? And even those things were as rusty and decrepit as an old dog's mind.